


The Wind and the Willow: The Space Between

by SincerelySycamore



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:14:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28772916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SincerelySycamore/pseuds/SincerelySycamore
Summary: After the tragic death of her parents, Willow Sycamore desperately tries to find a way to cross into a universe where they're still alive. After much trial and error, her experiment is a success. Sort of.
Relationships: Desmond Sycamore & Desmond Sycamore's Daughter
Kudos: 4





	1. Dr. Sycamore

When Willow came to, the first thing that met her blurry vision was a searing white light. She whimpered and turned away from it, instinctively curling up the way she did when greeted by the sun every morning. 

In response to this came a familiar voice.

"Ah, good. You're awake."

Willow hid her face beneath her arm, head still foggy with sleep. She was blissfully unaware of the events that had occurred before she had apparently passed out, at least for now. However, the fact that she wasn't in her bed began to make itself known, as some aches and pains started to creep through her body and the surface she lay on did nothing to alleviate them. It also occured to her that the light bothering her was, in fact, artificial.

Incredibly reluctantly, she opened her eyes  
A bright lamp come into focus, something you might see in a doctor's surgery. She grimaced at it. 

"Good morning, Starshine! The earth says 'Hello!'" 

Startled, Willow looked around for who was speaking to her, her eyes falling on a masculine figure standing a few feet away from her. She was horribly near sighted, but could see well enough to know what was what for the most part. 

It was...

No.

It was someone she hadn't seen in years, and certainly would have never seen again had she not started sticking her nose in places it probably didn't belong. He was dressed a bit strangely, but she would recognise her father anywhere. She simply stared at him, unable to form words.

The man chuckled at her speechlessness before taking something out of his person and placing it on her face. Her glasses. She clutched them gratefully.

Now that she could see properly, she looked him over. He was wearing a purple waistcoat over a white dress shirt paired with a belt and smart black trousers. The suit she always remembered him wearing was nowhere to be seen. The strangest thing, however, was the startling length of his hair. It reached down to his waist in a side swept chocolate cascade and then some. Even her hair unbraided didn't compare. Daddy would never have kept his hair that long, it was unbecoming of a gentleman- or at least, that's what he told her when it grew out past the carefully tamed hairstyle that rested on his neck. This didn't look unbecoming though. Even so, she couldn't help but feel an overwhelming feeling of wrongness.

He patiently allowed her to take him in. "Oh, my hair? Do you like it?" 

She nodded, still rendered mute. She was far too polite and British to say "No," anyway.

"You know, dear, I'd never forgive myself as a host if I couldn't stir up a decent conversation." He teased. "Joking aside, how are you feeling?" 

"I'm fine, I think. A bit sore, but fine." She replied, hesitantly. 

"To be expected. I did my best to make the extraction as painless as possible, but interdimensional travel will always be a bit painful until we can make it a bit less, ah, crude, for lack of a better word. Not to say that it wasn't a brilliant first attempt, of course! I'm very proud of you!"

She did her best to follow what the man who, evidently, was her father was saying. He was visibly excited, his body language moving with every word. She was overjoyed to see him, to be sure. Despite that, she knew this very situation was quite impossible. Her father had died years ago.

This meant that her life's work had been a success. Which was absolutely astounding. Unfortunately, she was a bit fuzzy on the events that had led up to said success. As if picking up on this, her father spoke once again. 

"Do you remember what happened, darling?" 

"N-No. I'm sorry." 

"Don't be." He said warmly, stroking her hair. She flinched involuntarily. Not because she disliked it. But because it had been such a long time since he'd shown her any sort of affection. Because, well, he'd been dead. 

"Allow me to elaborate. You built a functioning gateway that led to here, tried to cross it, and got stuck. Our realities aren't very fond of letting their residents leave and will try to close in around you to prevent you from doing so. That's where I come in." He said, placing a hand on his chest proudly. "I saw you trying to come through and helped you out. It isn't glamorous, but I thought one of the tools I use for dust processing would fit around you quite well, and used it to pull you out. Then I brought you here, to my surgery, to look after you."

Willow looked down at herself, trying to remember at least some of this chain of events. Yes... the door. It had been the first one that had been large enough for someone to go through, and stable enough to actually do so. Her previous attempts had been very small, with windows that flickered about discordantly. Despite this, she had tried each time to send something through to the other side, with varying degrees of success. It had all been small things- A few mugs, some of which shattered. One which appeared to have been cleaved cleanly in two. Others disappeared entirely, which she had been immensely pleased with. Once, she tried to send through a spare pen, which broke and splattered ink all over her. 

She had been working with her close friend Cyrus, and- Yes, she remembered now, her father, from the other world! She had managed to establish contact with him and had been communicating with him for weeks. But this was not the man she had been speaking to.

"Um, pardon me, er... Sir?" She didn't really know what to call him. She knew he was a professor, but she couldn't bring herself to call him that, and she wasn't ready to refer to him as her father. She settled lamely on 'sir.'

"Forgive me, but you don't quite look like my father. I've been speaking to him, and he doesn't look like you." 

His eyes flashed, expression hardening before quickly dissipating back into a friendly demeanour. "Oh, please don't call me "Sir," darling, I simply won't have that. We're family, after all!" he said cheerfully. "If you absolutely must, I will permit you to call me by my title, Dr. Sycamore. I would rather you didn't, though." 

He quickly looked through a leatherbound notebook that had been laying on a desk in the corner of the room, jotted some things down, then snapped it closed. "Since I'm satisfied with your recovery, why don't we continue this chat over some tea? I'll have Raymond prepare something special."


	2. Dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Dr." Sycamore explains briefly about a mysterious substance that is apparently quite common in this world. Willow reminiscences and is impressed by his home, which is like hers but with lots of flashy differences.

The so-called "Dr. Sycamore" made his way briskly down a beautifully lit hallway, Willow following along behind him. As they walked she took the opportunity to look around at what appeared to be his home.

The hall was decorated with a black on blue wallpaper that had an elegant, curvy design interconnecting all over. It had a slight sheen to it, though if that was from the lighting, she wasn't sure.

From the ceiling hung evenly spaced, cylindrical fixtures filled with an incandescent, startlingly blue liquid. She'd never seen anything like it before. At home, she'd seen lights with coloured glass over them to give off certain hues, but it didn’t look anything like this. The liquid inside the fixtures was slightly cloudy, with shimmery, iridescent flecks inside. It seemed to move very slowly.

Looking at the light reminded her of a time long ago when her parents brought her to an aquarium. In her mind's eye, she saw her mother pointing to the glass, behind it, various jellyfish of all sizes swimming about aimlessly. It filled her with a curious feeling she couldn’t quite put a name to.

“Er, Dr. Sycamore?”

The name came out forced and uncertain. Sycamore stopped abruptly and shut his eyes for several seconds, as if this pained him. She couldn’t see this, though. He turned to face her with the same warm smile he had given her since she awoke.

“Yes, dear?”

“What is that, in the lights? Is this Azran technology?”

Willow remembered his obsession with the lost Azran civilisation. She'd seen the countless notes littering his office many times. It was his life's study.

“Azran? Goodness, no. This is ‘dust.’ Do you not have it at home?” He chuckled, tilting his head slightly. “This is how most, if not all, light is made here. Lovely stuff, isn’t it?”

She nodded, looking back up to watch the liquid. “Dust? Surely you don’t mean like, ACTUAL dust? The grey stuff that makes you sneeze?”

Sycamore covered his mouth, stifling a laugh. “No, as in stardust. It's an ore that’s harvested from stars. It isn’t just used for light either, it powers all sorts of things.”

Willow smiled and let out an involuntary “Ooooh” of delight, watching the liquid swirl ever so slowly in its individual containers. “That’s incredible. I’ve never seen anything like it!”

Her apparent father watched her in patient silence, allowing her to take it in. He noticed her mahogany eyes, so much like his own, reflected back the light beautifully. He enjoyed that. “I can show you how to process it, if you like. You can buy it in its refined form like this from shops but I prefer to make my own. It’s cheaper that way, not that money is an issue. It’s something of a hobby of mine. It’s normally yellow or orange, but I colour mine this shade of blue. I think it’s lovely, don’t you?”

She tore her gaze away from the entrancing light, nodding fervently. “Yes, I love it. I would be delighted if you could show me more about it.”  
Sycamore returned her nod approvingly. “I thought you might. All in good time, my dear. We still have much to discuss.”

He curled his fingers slightly at her before turning away again, indicating for her to follow. She raced after him accordingly, stealing cursory glances for other oddities she could ask about later.

The hallway opened up into a parlour that was dotted with lamps containing the strange light. All that same, serene blue. The furniture itself mirrored the home she came from. However, her parents had preferred more muted, earthy tones when decorating their abode, whereas here the familiar furnishings here were rich shades of blue to match the lighting, with gold detailing to accentuate it. Upon closer inspection, there were other differences as well. An oak table she remembered was now a glass topped table with a sturdy but elegant golden frame with curved legs.

There was a surprising amount of gold, or a metal that looked very much like it, lining the place. It was a different sort of fancy than what Willow was brought up with, and she liked it. She had always had a soft spot for shiny things- Cyrus would rip into her about it, calling her “magpie” when she got taken in by the pretty jewellery being sold on one of the London high streets.

Sycamore continued on to the next room, pretending to be unaware of the girl's brimming curiosity behind him. This room was a small dining room. She remembered this place too. There were two in their house; a large one for parties and a smaller one from the three of them and their butler Raymond, who, despite doing the house work and other errands was treated like one of the family. Though before her parent’s passing, Willow barely tolerated him. She did not hide this very well.

It was strange, she normally warmed up right away to people her father enjoyed the company of, which there were few indeed. He did not have many friends. That is to say, there were plenty of people who would readily refer to him as a friend, though he would be far more hesitant to do so if asked. Even so, there was a social etiquette to maintain for those in their status, so Sycamore politely refrained from drawing attention to this point.

Willow copied his behaviour to the best of her ability for as long as she could remember, but could not seem to do so with Raymond. The old Scottish man had done nothing to harm or upset her, there had just always been a disconnect between them. As a result, Willow pulled a series of childish pranks on him, which seemed to follow a theme of her locking him in or out of places. Despite this, Raymond treated her with the same unconditional devotion he had shown her father.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, Miss?”

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote the beginning of this chapter some time ago, lost it, then wrote it again. Then I lost motivation and got busy. 
> 
> I finished it off at the time of posting. I've been working on assignments for university, so I apologise if there's a sudden dry shift in writing style!

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of a larger story I intend to write tying into the main Professor Layton series one day. I'm not sure when that will happen or when this one will be finished, but I have lots of ideas I'm very excited to share. This first chapter was already shown to a good friend of mine a few months ago, but I promised myself I would only post it here when I'd written another chapter to go along with it.


End file.
